The Millionaire's Secret Baby. Crystal Green

She’d tucked the front strands of her hair, the blond ones, behind her ears, emphasizing her heart-shaped face. A golden locket hung around her neck, catching the subdued light.

      For a second, a greeting, a whiplash remark, caught in his throat and ached there. The tight heat slid down to his chest.

      To his belly. Clutching. Conquering.

      She moved closer, each step offering more details in the lantern light, revealing nuances like the subtle almond slant of her eyes.

      “Deston?”

      The fist of longing in his belly tore at him.

      Another foot forward. “I didn’t know if I’d come tonight.”

      “Well, you made me wonder for fifteen minutes.” There. Back in control, where he belonged.

      “Right.” She smiled. It wasn’t the glimmering flash of high noon he’d seen at the pond, but a sad smile. “Quite a stickler for punctuality, aren’t you?”

      “Yeah. I’m a real taskmaster.” He extended a hand, palm up. “Why don’t you come up here?”

      She hesitated. “I want you to understand something first. I’m here for one night, a dinner, and then no more. I go back to work after that.”

      Mr. Stanhope was known for his demands on his children, so her statement didn’t surprise him. In fact, it bonded him to her in a small way. “Your dad sounds like a tough boss.”

      “Yes,” she said, glancing away. “He is. But I love him more than anything.”

      Usually Deston could have a woman in his arms within the first five minutes. Her reluctance frustrated him, intrigued him.

      He beckoned with a finger, a tacit command. “You coming or not?”

      From beneath her long lashes, she glanced up at him, then accepted his grip. At first touch, awareness exploded through him, rocking the foundations of his strength, its fire licking below his skin, threatening to burn out of reach. Her hand was so tiny in his, so slender. As he lifted her fingers, cupping them over the ridge of his index finger, he noticed that her nails were short, practical.

      She must’ve seen the realization on his face, because she tugged her hand away. But he was too quick, clasping her fingers in his, using his thumb to rub her knuckles.

      “Why are you afraid of me?” he asked.

      “Afraid?” She laughed, but it was shaky, unsure. “I’m not afraid.”

      He drew her hand closer to his mouth, rested his lips against her skin. Beneath a cover of sweet-scented lotion—apricots?—he caught the earthy aroma of chives, garlic, pepper. The mixture confused his senses, consuming him.

      “You cook.”

      She laughed again, tightening her hold on him. “I’m staying with a nearby friend, and we whipped something up for a midday snack.”

      Suddenly, she pulled her grip out of his and sat in one of the chairs. Was she frowning?

      “So,” she continued, stiffening in her seat, a smile wobbling on her face. “What’s for dinner?”

      The gesture still wasn’t as bright as this afternoon. Not by a long shot.

      “You planning to eat and run?” he asked, sitting opposite her.

      “It depends on the company, I suppose.” With cheeky grace, she took her napkin, fanned it out, settled it over her lap.

      He couldn’t help chuckling. “I’ll try to keep you entertained. Wouldn’t want you making that lemon face, now, would we?”

      “Could you please not call me that?”

      “Lemon Face? It’s got an endearing ring to it.”

      “It’s…” She fidgeted with the stem of her wineglass. Was she nervous? “I’ve gone beyond such nicknames.”

      “What should I call you then?”

      You could have filled the resulting pause with a truckload of gravel.

      She exhaled, shoulders sinking. Deston couldn’t identify her expression. Disappointment? Her own brand of frustration? Why?

      “Hey, now,” he said. “I promise. No more Lemon Face.”

      A smile fought its way onto her lips, suffusing the night with her glow. The smile.

      Her teeth were slightly off-kilter, and a gentleness wrapped around his heart, squeezing it. He wondered why she’d never gotten braces, but didn’t want to chase away her happiness by asking. Instead, he said, “Sunny.”